FREAK
by PanicButton
Summary: Reid/OMC Spencer knows that it's wrong. He knows he shouldn't do it. He's seen through the veil. Been to the other side of hell and is back and all is not good. His life has been destroyed and so has everyone around him. There is one last person standing at his side. Will he listen? Will he fold and do what is being asked of him or will he prove that he shouldn't be trusted?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Don't you ever want to scrap everything which came before and start again? Have happy endings and peace and comfort? Wouldn't it be lovely if that could happen? Tear away the pain and gore and the nasty relationships and just start the fuck again.**

 **It's a lovely thought, but I don't think it's going to happen.**

 **FREAK**

 _Give me your shoes, or it will be me unwrapping you, and Princess won't like that ~ FFF_

o-o-o

'You know, I can't let you do that.' Reid stood with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. A smudge of dirt on the side of his face looked damp, as though some insane bastard had tried to lick it away and got bored half way through the process. 'Leave the boy alone.' But the words didn't hold much conviction. Reid didn't look as though his words were going to be heeded. There was no reply. Just a sigh. A hand grabbed at Spencer's elbow and dragged him back out of sight of the house they had been standing looking at. 'I know what you're going to say. You've told me. I know. I just think it's… well wrong.'

Now there was a whispered reply. The words spoken directly into Spencer's ear. The hot breath so familiar. That quick lick on the curve of his ear. Nothing to be alarmed about, not yet. 'I don't give a fuck if you think it's wrong or not. When have I ever asked your damned permission to do what I need? When? Waiting for an answer, Babes. Quick now. I'll count to three and I'll need a real good answer from that genius brain of yours. One, two - …'

'Stop it.' Reid backed away slightly, but that hand was still there, still gripping a hold on him, fingertips digging in. 'You're hurting me.' He whispered.

'That's not a reason.' Floyd spoke through his teeth at Spencer. 'You do my nut in, Spence. I have explained everything. You know why.'

'Just because you have explained it, doesn't make it right. I don't want to be part of this. Never have wanted to be part of it. You do what you need to do…'

'… and risk that you'll not go crying to some suit and blab the wondrous plan?'

Spencer rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips and shook his head. 'It's not a wondrous plan, Floyd. It's kidnapping. It's… it's… it's the sort of thing I used to spend my time trying to solve. They will know it's you.'

'They think I'm dead. They think you're dead. They think Sam is dead. Why would it even cross their minds, unless you've been in contact with them somehow? Have you, Babes? Have you contacted Rossi?'

'Of course not.' Reid attempted to walk away down the street. A nice area. Expensive homes, good lawns… a good safe place to live – usually. 'I'm not stupid.'

'You are.' Floyd told Reid. 'You are a fucking moron if you think you can just tell me not to do something and I'll listen to you. Thought we were partners. Thought we had that conversation. You need to go through it all again? Fine! We'll go home and I'll hammer that fact into your fucking flesh once again. You… you… fucker. Honestly Spencer… What the hell made you think I would listen to your pathetic reasoning? I would upset the parents. The child isn't mine to take. He wouldn't enjoy himself where I'm taking him. It's going to draw attention… has any of that ever been a reason for me not to do something? I made a fucking deal Spencer. You know how that goes. You know. I can't renege on that. It's what it is.'

'I don't want to be part of it.' Reid stood beside a motorcycle and pulled a helmet off the catch on the back. 'Do what you have to do.'

'You stupid shit. You are part of the damned deal! You have to be part of it.' Floyd climbed onto the bike, pulling on his own helm and indicating that Spencer should get on the back. 'Home then. More conversations. More delays. And the longer the delay, the longer Sam is away from us. That's not something I want. I like to get what I want, Babes. Hold on tight. Don't fall off now.'

o-o-o

Home for Spencer was not his old apartment with his leather chair and shelves piled with books. Oh he still had books. He still had somewhere to sit, but this was not where he would have chosen to live. No choice though. It was a place down a not much used track. A small single storey home with a wraparound porch. There was a sparkling clean kitchen, an even cleaner bathroom, a lounge with squashy couch and coffee table (with coasters) and there was a bedroom with Floyd's huge bed. There was no telephone. There was a generator which Spencer was in charge of to have lights and hot water. There was an axe leaning on the woodshed wall, right next to the door, which Spencer was not permitted to use. There was a swing hanging from tree branch, chairs out on the front of the porch with a scattering of cheroot butts and old wine bottles. Every luxury Floyd allowed. They didn't need more.

'Be grateful, you bitch.' Floyd had snapped when Spencer moaned about the funny smell the place had. 'Some people have nowhere to sleep. You want to sleep out there, alone, in the dark… in the rain? Do you?' Spencer didn't… that was why, for now he was staying here. There were books to read. There was coffee. There was a bed. Strangely enough, even though he was here with a psychopath he did feel sort of safe.

Today they were sitting in the lounge. Spencer on the couch and Floyd on the coffee table, sitting with his elbows resting on his thighs, staring at Spencer and demanding that he looked at him in the eyes. At least at his face… 'Try looking at my nose and working your way up to the eyes.' Floyd had snapped. 'My face isn't so repulsive is it?'

'Of course not.'

But that wasn't the answer Floyd had wanted. He wanted, demanded truth. Truth! Is that so damned hard? Why was everyone a liar? Why couldn't people just open their stupid mouths and say what they meant. 'Liar.' Floyd sighed. 'Try again. Is my face really so repulsive to you? You used to like me… at least a like. Not even a like any longer?'

Spencer shrugged. What to say? How to explain that he could see through the veil? He could see something lurking there under Floyd's skin. Something pulsating, damp and oozing. He could smell it. He could smell the rot. Spencer's stomach heaved and he looked up from his hands which he was twisting in his lap to Floyd's eyes. He swallowed, licked his lips and felt something like barbed wire wrapping around his brain. His eyes watered as his mouth went dry. Fear? Was that fear? Spencer thought he wasn't afraid of this monster, but was he spending his life – what was left of it – being afraid of the one thing he needed to stay safe?

'Something has gone wrong.' Spencer muttered.

'Evidently. I know. You don't have to remind me of failure, Spence. I know it's gone wrong. So fucking wrong that I can feel death approaching so damned fast that it makes my skin crawl. This last task… we need to do it. We have to get the boy. They make demands of me, Babes and there really is nothing I can do to stop them. I've no control over this. I admit to you here, because no one else is here to listen and because if you blabbed, no one would believe you… I am but a pawn. A throwaway piece of nothing. The smallest bit of crap you could imagine. It broke me. What happened destroyed us all. This is our way back. You want to live in your hell for eternity? I found you immortality, Spencer, don't throw that back in my face like it means nothing. Look at me! Stop looking at your fucking hands! I need you to look me in the eyes and tell me that you want to leave.'

Spencer looked up again at Floyd. Looked at those dead, dark eyes. He took in the emotionless face… no anger there. Certainly no love. Nothing. A blank face. 'I never said I wanted to leave. I said I didn't want to be involved in your plan. It's not that… well it is actually. I think it's a vile thing to do. I don't want involvement. Leave Henry alone. Please. Go back and try to get a different deal.'

'Can't. This was the last. I've done all else. I destroyed Hotchner. I dealt with Derek. I've removed Prentiss from the scene. I've destroyed you too. I've no interest in the chicks who are working on the team now. They mean nothing. They are nothing. They have nothing to offer either of us. Jack…'

'Don't. Just don't.' Spencer got up from the couch. He was going to walk out to the kitchen and get a coffee… something to distract himself from what was going on here, but Floyd jumped up too and pushed him back down again.

'Didn't tell you to stand. Didn't give you a choice. I need you with me. I have to have you involved. It's all part of the plan, Spencer. All part. Can't have you feeling guilt or regrets. We are both monsters in the eyes of the law. You want to walk back into that situation? They'll lock you up. I'll tell them that you knew everything. I'd tell them it all and they will believe me. They will do. I will tell them that you noticed the missing roll of plastic. I'll tell them that you knew your gloves were gone. I'll tell them that you knew I could do what I did in the time they wouldn't have thought possible. It would blow my alibi out of the water, but if you're going to throw me to the dogs, then I'll be dragging you there with me. No more nice guy.'

Spencer raised an eyebrow at that. Nice? Nice was not something he would use to describe Floyd. Maybe once. Maybe there had been times. There had been! Surely. Floyd had given him his all. Floyd would never have let him die. Floyd would kill anything which was thought a threat. Not now. Things had changed. Things had gone very wrong.

'This last time.' Spencer said. 'Too many times we have gone and come back again. Sam's clocks. The time shifting. It's destroyed us both. It's destroyed everything. There's nothing left, Floyd. I'd never report you to anyone. Have I ever? Why don't you trust me now?'

Crazy Spencer! 'You've lost whatever plot you once had. Lost and gone, never to be seen again. Trust? I never trusted you. I always had to keep tabs on you. Why do you think I used our special little mind talks. Why do you think I had that bond with you? It was so I could feel your pain… but so I could feel your joy too! I knew when you were being ploughed. I could feel every thrust. Tell me why I should suddenly trust you? You don't love me. It's not love. It's been a long time since you've felt any desire for me, except for me to hurt you. Oh you still like a bit of rough… I know that. That's not… wait… forgot what I was saying… I've never trusted you. Whore. To the core a fucking whore.'

'That's unfair.' Spencer again stood. This time Floyd let him. He watched Spencer walk to the kitchen and thought as he sat again on the coffee table, how many sharp knives there were out there. Forks. Eating forks. Stick one of those in an eye and it would hurt.

'I hope you're not thinking of picking up a fork!' Floyd bellowed out.

Spencer looked at the spoon in his hand and shook his head. 'I don't need a fork to make coffee.'

Floyd stood and walked around the small oak table. 'Don't make coffee, Babes. Sweet Baby Pluto… not coffee. I'm sure I've told you that your coffee tastes like warm shit. Grab a bottle of wine. Or maybe ask me to make the coffee? You know? You could do that.'

Spencer placed the spoon down again and walked back to the doorway where he could see Floyd staring at the fireplace. 'Would you make coffee?'

'Please?'

'Please can you make the coffee?'

'Who you talking to, bitch?'

'Floyd can you please make the coffee?'

'So you're trying to tell me what to do? You think I'm your fucking slave or something? Yes… I guess so. I think I'm about to ban you from going in the kitchen again. Don't like the way you look at my collection of things in the fridge. I'll cook us up something nice, huh? You fancy something nice? Something spicy? Something to make your hair grow a bit faster, because sure as shit on my shoe, I don't like you with short hair. Makes your head look fucking huge.' He paused and looked at Spencer. 'Have I ever told you that you have the perfect shaped skull? It's a masterpiece in genetics. It's beautiful. Come… let me lick you.'


	2. Chapter 2

2

 _Give me a reason to make a chili ~ FFF_

* * *

They sat on the chairs outside, on the porch. Floyd drank from a bottle of fine red wine and Spencer had his thermal sippy cup which had prevented many spillages in the past and now was the only vessel Floyd allowed him to drink from. Spencer had coffee. Spiked. He was sure there was something added to it. There was an odd aftertaste which made his gums tingle. There was no point in saying anything about it. Perhaps he was wrong. It might just have been the aftereffects of the rather spicy chili he had eaten earlier. Maybe it was slowly eating away at his insides. It wouldn't have shocked him if Floyd told him it would.

'Smoke.' Floyd passed over one of his hand-rolled cheroots.

Spencer took it from him but for now just held it carefully between his fingers. 'I don't really… you know? They're a bit strong.'

'You mean that you think I've put something in there? Really Spence. If I was going to drug you, it would be in the food, or the coffee.' Floyd smirked at his best friend, his lover, his fuck-buddy… his number one… his sidekick… his dog. 'Smoke it. Enjoy. It's full of the good stuff.'

'I've some…' He was stopped from saying more by a look which drifted over Floyd's face. There was no emotion on that face earlier. Now, certainly… that was emotion and not one which Spencer much liked the look of. 'Thank you, Floyd.' He put it between his lips and puffed gently, blowing smoke out of his nose, inhaling as little as he could, but it still made his head swim and his hands shake. The mug of coffee wobbled in his hands, but no spillage! Nothing for Floyd to bitch at him about. 'I'm tired.' He muttered.

'Well, it's been a long day. Go sleep if you need to. The coffee should have given you some energy. Woken that slug of a brain up a bit. Given you maybe the ability to see why we have to do this job.'

Another puff of the cheroot. Spencer nodded. 'There must be another way. Another way to get Sam back. Do you even know where he is?'

'Not a fucking clue.' Floyd tapped his forehead with a cheroot stained finger. 'I've probed gently. You know… risky business when I don't know if he's here or _there_. And there's the small matter that they said, quite clearly, with a talon up my arse, that if I tried to contact Sammy-boy that they would slip that thing a bit further up next time… and treat you to a nice surprise too. But I guess you don't care if I'm abused by some demonic cunt. You don't care if you give over yourself for Sam.' Floyd stood up, throwing his cheroot over the porch railing and dropping the empty wine bottle onto the boards. 'Well. Let's get to it then. Maybe they'll let me watch you being torn apart from your balls upwards. Or perhaps you'll get to see me being torn in two… lengthways. No coming back from that sort of shit, Spencer, but if that's what you want, I'll tell them.'

Spencer stayed sitting, taking another drag on the cheroot. It was actually a good mix, now that his brain had realised what it was, the world had stopped spinning. It also seemed to have alleviated the pounding headache which had been creeping in again. 'I don't want that. You know I don't want that. Stop being dramatic.'

'So I'm a drama queen now? I thought that was Sam's thing.'

'I'm just trying to make suggestions, Floyd. I don't want that to happen. I also don't want you to carry out this plan you have brewing. You've not told me what you're going to do with Henry once you have him. And didn't you once say that he had a square head? I thought you didn't like him… too young?'

'Back to that shit.' Floyd sat again. 'He's grown into his head. Not the prize I would have picked, but it's not as deformed as it was. As for where I'm going to take him, well I'm not going to tell you. Not all the while there is that small problem with trust. You can understand that can't you? You can see why I'd not want to give away my whole plan?'

'You have a whole plan?' Spencer asked.

'No.' Floyd smirked again. 'It's in the early stages. You know how I am with my plans. The lighter they are the easier they are to keep to. And I don't appreciate your questions. Your doubt. You think it can't be done?'

'I think you plan on killing a small child.' Spencer snapped at Floyd.

'No. I can promise you that. Really… my promises hold true. You know. I promise I have no plans to kill that boy. I've no plans to do anything but do the swap. He's no good to either of us dead. Okay? Does that ease the problem at all?' There was a long sigh from Spencer and a nod. 'Good! See… baby steps. We're getting somewhere. I don't want the kid for myself. That's not the plan either. I don't like kids. Snotty, shitting things. Sam's snot is enough to deal with, don't want a kid crying and pissing in my life. Why do you think I sent Sam to Iolanda? Let him deal with those things. Not my bag at all. So… we're on again? You in? Not that you have an option of being out, but I'd sooner not have to nail you to the fucking floor or table again just to ensure you don't run off on me.'

Things change. They change either with a heart-breaking smash or with something more gradual. Both can be deadly or maybe both can be sweet. It really depends on how you look at things. For Spencer it had been both. A series of events which tore at his soul and ripped his spirit from him. For Floyd it was a slow burn of deadly dealings. Time after damned time he had tried to scrape his way back to what he had once been. Now he sat and spoke to Spencer in a slow mumble of maybe confessions. Not that Spencer really believed anything Floyd told him. Unless a promise was inserted somewhere, that word… promise… it was the only way he knew that Floyd was telling him total truth. Like a safe word… something they'd never actually used in the bedroom, or kitchen – or any other place, but it was a safe word of a different sort. If Floyd said that he promised he'd not kill Henry, then Spencer believed him. It was all in the subtle wording which dripped from Floyd's mouth. Now had he said that he promised not to hurt Henry, then that would be different. Floyd could kill easily and not cause pain to his victim. The fact that Floyd had said he wouldn't _kill_ Henry was almost good news.

There was that other bit of the wording though. You can hurt someone almost to the point of death and not kill them. Spencer was a prime example of Floyd's ability to hand out pain but not death. He looked down at the pale marks on his hands where Floyd had nailed him to the table all that long, very long time ago and sighed.

Floyd had been thumbing through a pile of leaflets which he had been picking up at various places, libraries mainly. He put them to the side and frowned at his Babe. 'What? What's the sigh for? Going to accuse me of something again? Fuck you.' He was about to stand up from the couch when Spencer spoke.

'I need you to promise me something else. I really need you to do this. Promise me that you won't hurt Henry.'

Floyd's face twitched. The corner of his eye went into a small spasm and he clenched his fists on his lap. 'You ask a lot of me Spence. Too much. Have I not given you everything anyone could wish for?'

'Uh.' Spencer replied. 'It's just… it's… it's just that… I know you.'

'Well I would hope you did. But that's not answered my question. Have I not given you everything?'

'Uh… yes. That is not what I asked you.' Spencer's voice wobbled slightly. Dangerous ground he was treading now. Very dangerous. 'I need you to promise not to hurt Henry.'

'Fine. I'll not hurt him. Not on purpose. Oh, you think I want to… you're accusing me again! You think I want him to replace Sammy? What the fuck, Spencer. What the holy fuck do you think I am? How well do you know me and how many kids have I…'

'No.' Spencer cut in. 'That's not what I meant. I know… I know you'd not do something like that. I know. I don't want you beating him, nailing his feet to the floor or whatever.'

'Right. Fine. If I promise that what do I get in return? What can you offer me?'

Spencer scratched at his neck and shook his head. 'I'll help.'

'No more questions asked?'

'Maybe a few?' Spencer replied.

'Great. That's a deal then.' Floyd now got up, picking up the leaflets with him and walked to the bedroom. 'You need to sleep. I'll keep you company.' That wasn't something to be debated. Spencer followed Floyd without question. He didn't see the smug smirk Floyd had on his face. Twist the words enough… confuse Spencer with accusations and the promise was never actually made.

o-o-o

Sam had been dressed in the height of fashion, as he saw it. He looked amazing. His hair was glowing, his fingernails were painted. He had a smudge of glitter on his eyelids and a neat line of eyeliner. He thought he looked fucking amazing and told everyone he saw. Not that the monsters staring at him knew. What would they know? They're just hell creatures with no damned sense of what looks good… and Sam looked mighty fine! He stood looking at himself in the mirror, ran his fingers over his reflection. Oh such a curse to be so beautiful! He could never and would never meet a person who looked this good. He out-shone everything and every-one! He was top of the list! He had made it… apart from his stupid wandering eye which kept looking at his nose and apart from the fact that he could see sod all out of it, but that was minor and no one ever commented on it. Not any longer. Not now Floyd was gone for good! No more insults to be thrown at him. No jealous faces to be aimed at Spencer. Nothing but love and glory and…

'Get in.' Something snapped at Sam. He felt the hot air blowing on the back of his thin and pale neck. A delicate neck. A neck which needed kisses placed on it. Not demands.

'In a sec or two.' He watched the way his mouth moved as he spoke and gave a small smile to see that dimple at the corner of his mouth. The dimple so many had placed sweet kisses against.

'Now.' The air felt sort of fetid now. Not sweet. No sweet kisses. 'Get in the fucking box.'

Sam could protest. He could state, again, his demands, and he knew that he would be ignored. He sniffed and rubbed his hand under his nose and slowly turned to look at the wooden crate sitting there waiting for him. 'It'll mess up my hair,' he explained.

'No one is going to see your sodding hair. Get in.'

That was the reason Sam was locked in a box and buried somewhere… doesn't really matter where. The results were the same. Tears, snot… broken fingernails and smudged makeup. Not that Sam had a mirror or even any light to see by. His screams unheard. No one to hug or admire him. A very special sort of hell for Sam. Unfortunately for him, he didn't need air to breathe or water to drink or food to eat. Demonic little shits like Sammy-boy can live out an eternity with nothing but their own shitty attitude.

Sam was in storage.

o-o-o

Spencer and Floyd went back to the house they'd been to a few days before. This time in a van with dark windows. It wasn't going to be today that they snatched Henry. They were just looking, making notes, watching. The sick feeling Spencer had in his stomach was joined by another thumping headache, a black eye, a split lip and some fingers which had been bent back too far. Floyd was sitting shotgun watching the reflection in the wing-mirror. They wouldn't be staying long. Things like vans with darkened windows would be noticed if they stayed in the same place for too long. Especially stolen vans with false plates.

'We should go.' Spencer fingered the keys in the ignition as Floyd turned slowly to look at that pretty profile of his battered companion. 'Really, we should go.' Spencer said again.

Floyd nodded. A small temptation was there in his aching knuckles to smack Spencer in the ear. He wanted to watch the way Spencer's head would bounce off the side window. Maybe that was something for later. 'Go then.' He snapped. 'We'll do a ride past on the bike tomorrow. We have to wait for the brat's parents to be out of the house. Get him when he's with a sitter.'

A bit of fingernail chewing went on with Spencer for a minute or so. There was so much he wanted to say but dared not. He turned over the engine and slowly they drove away in the same direction the bike had gone a few days before. 'We need to get a legal vehicle. What if we're stopped?'

'Right. I agree. Which dead person is going to raise his ugly head to do that then? The dead Flanders or the dead Reid? Now keep your mouth shut unless you have something of sense to say. You talk crap.'

'If we're stopped they will know anyway.'

'Then don't get stopped. That's why you're driving and not me. It just feels that over and again you are trying to delay getting Sam back. I know there's no love lost between the pair of you, but I would do all and everything to get you back from hell. I can't leave him. Pull over. Here… pull over.'

Spencer stopped the van at the edge of a parking lot belonging to a diner. They had stopped here before and had a snack or bought coffee, so it was no real surprise to Spencer that Floyd was asking again. It was when Spencer was about to remove his seatbelt that he realised that this wasn't going to a coffee stop.

'Leave it on. For now. I just need to talk to you. I need to understand why you are trying to delay things. You've seen what could be happening to Sammy. I know that he… I know you… Look, Spence, if you want out…'

'Even if I wanted out, you've made it clear what would happen. This is against all I believe in. Everything. He's my godson! I should protect him from people like you, not plan his abduction.'

Floyd really couldn't disagree more with that statement. 'Bullshit. Utter crap.' He passed Spencer something to smoke and then pulled out his hipflask. 'You and I, Spencer, we are working together because that way we can be delivered from the hell we have been placed in. This might not even be real. You understand that? I hope you do. I'm stuck here not knowing what is happening with Sam, and that might not mean much to you, but as he's my standby, my other me, then that's sort of important that I get him back. He is my immortality. I am yours. Making any sense yet? I'm having to do something I don't really want to do and you certainly are being tested. If you don't want that test, if you want to break from this… then you will fall into a hell much dirtier than the one you are in now. Think on that will you, Babes?' Floyd then moved across and unclipped Spencer's seatbelt. 'Now go get me coffee. No twitching and stuttering. We're fairly local. No need for anyone to think it strange. This is all part of the cover… yes officer I've seen that pair around, buddies… they drink coffee… never a twitch out of either of them, local boys blah blah blah… Get it?'

The coffee purchasing went without a hitch. The girl serving recognised Spencer and served him the usual black sweet coffee for two. He thought for a moment that she was going to ask something, she looked confused or puzzled over something. Probably the black-eye and split lip, but the words went unsaid and so Spencer didn't have to think up of a way of falling downstairs when they didn't have any stairs to fall down. He just gave her the money, exact change was handed over, and he left with a smile and no eye contact. It had gone well. As he walked quickly back to the van he wondered how the hell he was going to manage actually doing something Floyd needed him to do if he was thinking that buying coffee was a risk. It was with great relief when he seated himself back behind the wheel and was able to hand Floyd his coffee with no mistakes made.

'She recognised me.' He told Floyd.

'Good. Regulars. Nothing strange then. This is all good Spencer. Don't look so fucking worried. You're going to stress yourself out of your skin.'

'I just don't know how you manage to stay so calm about this. How you ever managed to. All you have done…'

'You think I managed? Okay. If that's what you want to think. You're telling me that I have to go get coffee in future? Too scared of some whore with a sweaty cleavage to buy a fucking coffee? Now you understand, maybe, why I didn't take you out collecting with me previously. I would call you a coward, except I know you're not. More backbone that people would give you credit for. I trained you well, don't you think? I've not had the time to train you as I did Sam, but you're not bad for a beginner. All your time in the BAU helped. Good training ground. There was a reason I sent you there.'

'That was Gideon.'

'That was me. Fucktard. How many times do I have to correct you on that? Once more? With a fist?'

They sat for the remainder of the time drinking coffee in silence. They smoked, flicked ash out of the window and then watched the sky darken and storm clouds gathering overhead. It was going to rain. Rain a lot. And that put Floyd in a strange mood. He needed to get home quickly. Work to do. He had a project underway and…

'…and I need you secured to the bed before I can do that.'

'Great.'

Spencer drove back towards their small home in the back of nowhere, down the rutted track which was gathering mud, and to their home with the woodshed and axe. To their home where Floyd escorted Spencer to the bedroom and ordered him to lay on his front so he could tie him down properly.

'There is no need.' Spencer said as he sat on the edge of the bed. 'Please, Floyd, just trust that I'll stay here. If you don't want me to leave the bedroom, just say. There's no need for this.'

But there was great need for it. This Spencer found out as he lay there, wrists tied with cord and feet in cuffs and secured to the end of the bed. He sighed as he lay there watching Floyd pull on an old overcoat and his lace up boots. His working clothes.

'I'll be in the woodshed. A few hours. Maybe longer. Have to get this right. It's a secret though.' Floyd grinned a horrible smile and Spencer twitched a smile in return. 'Piss in that bed and I'll break your… your… oh something… I'll leave it to your imagination. Maybe shouldn't have had that coffee, huh?'

And Floyd left, closing the door behind him.

o-o-o

STEP RIGHT UP TO SEE THE GREATEST SHOW OF EARTH.

It was printed in red, bold, fancy writing. They advertised a local show, a circus. A big top tent with high flyers and performing ponies with acrobatic riders. All sounded damned fantastic, but why Floyd was insisting that it was Spencer who posted them in mailboxes and stuck them to trees down the road they had been watching, was a mystery to him. It was not a place he wanted to go to. Not a place Floyd wanted to. It looked second rate and likely partially illegal. However, Spencer took on the task with no questions. His wrists hurt from being tied up for eight hours. His eyes hurt from the pepper spray Floyd thought had been amusing to use on him. His nose was stuffed from the clout he had taken there too. At least his lip was healing nicely. At least he was doing this task without Floyd monitoring his every move. He had been dropped off with dire warnings of what would happen to him if he wavered from his task. It was vitally important that they were placed where he was told, at a height he was told. He had to ensure that some were left on actual doorsteps, if possible. They had to be in a place where the lad would see them too. They were adorned with pictures of ponies and riders, people flying through the sky, clowns and other circus performers. They both knew that JJ wasn't around that day. It was safe to go out and do this. Spencer had on a hoodie and baggy red jeans. Nothing like he would normally dress. He even had on a pair of sunglasses and white gloves. If someone saw him, it was not likely that they would connect him with the guy who bought coffee at the place down the road, or even with an ex FBI agent. He had half an hour to complete his task. Once this area had been done, Spencer would go and put notices up in other random places. It would have maybe looked odd if they only appeared in the one place.

The circus was in two days' time.

That was how long they had to prepare.

'And stop pulling that face. You're going to a fucking circus if you like it or not. The lad will be there. Easy job done. Nothing to worry about. It will all be over in a matter of minutes. The job done. The swap made. Then we will go home and wait for the next… the next communication. We will pray and we will wait. Sam will be home soon. Doesn't that make you happy?'

'So you snatch him at the circus, then what? You said you'd not hurt him.'

'Fuck's sake, Spencer. I can't tell you the plan. What if you get cold feet and decide to turn me in. What if you walk over to the cops and say you've come back from the dead, have been hiding away in a place just down the road, have been casing JJ's place so you could snatch Henry… and then what? What? What then, Babes? Going to point fingers at me? If I tell you nothing, then there's nothing to tell. Get me? It's that trust thing again. I don't trust you. I would Sam. He I would go over all details with, but Sam's not fucking well here is he? So… I am working with you, not my choice. Not my idea. Not what I like doing.'

'I don't want to have to wash blood off your clothing.' Spencer told him. 'Please.'

'Then you won't have to. No problem. I'm not in this game to kill him. I have promised you that, have I not? Tonight I'm going to take you to the movies. An old place. French noir. We will have fun. Relax. A date, as such.' Floyd ran a finger down the side of Spencer's face. 'Unless you would rather stay in? We could read to each other. Haven't done that in a while. What do you fancy?'


	3. Chapter 3

3

 _That silence when all you can hear is your own terror. All you can smell is your own fear. That eerie quiet when the victim suddenly falls silent. ~ Shatter._

* * *

Spencer thought, really thought, that it would be much better if they were not seen together. Not then. It would be noticed. Someone would say something. When questions were asked and they would be – when asked… they would remember the guy with the bruises. They would remember the shifty looking fellow who was blinking too often and scratching at his arms. People would look. They would pull their children away from the odd couple who stood holding hands and looking like they were searching for something or someone. When a certain someone suddenly disappears, then fingers would be pointed. Spencer was very sure of that.

'Subconsciously, people pick out the ones who are different from themselves. They might not want to or even feel that they are, but it's what happens. I know this. Floyd, you should go alone. You won't look like you're about to crawl out of your own skin. Please, just think about it. One very good looking man alone would maybe be noticed too, I agree with you, but you with me?'

Floyd was gripping door handle. His knuckles white. His eyes flickering from Spencer to the door and back again. 'It's a fucking partnership, Spence. We need to do these things together. I've gone through it with you.'

'I can be your partner here. I can be an alibi. I can lie. Perfectly capable of that now. I will cover for you. I can't do that if we're together. Take the bike and sidecar. It will be safer, quicker, easier.'

'So you are telling me that I'm wrong? You're correcting me?'

Spencer flinched slightly. Damnit. 'No. I'm just pointing out that when security cameras are looked at I will be seen. You, you not so much.'

It was a nod now. The hand loosened its grip on the door. 'Bike and sidecar stand out. I'll drive. Babes, you take one step in the wrong direction here and we lose Sam and I'm not going to have that happen. Go sit. I'll tie you to a chair.'

This wasn't going in the direction Spencer wished it to. He shook his head and sighed. 'And if someone does see something and the cops come knocking? How will I be your alibi? Just go. You're wasting time. Contact me if you need me, but I know you don't. You've never needed me before to carry out your jobs. You don't need me now. Get it done and get home. Quicker the better. I'll field any calls to the house. Not that I'm expecting any. No one will notice you. You'll not appear on security and hell, no one knows we are even alive. Hurry home. We can take in that movie when you're back.'

'A week.' And now the door was being pulled open. 'Give me a week.'

'Oh.' Spencer now gently touched Floyd's arm. 'I thought it would be a night at the longest. A week?'

'Well you know… things happen. That's worst case scenario. Likely be back by the morning. Might take longer. You know… sometimes…'

'Just don't hurt him… or kill him!'

'Not going to talk about that shit again. It's done.'

Floyd pulled Spencer in close and kissed him gently on the side of his neck. Floyd had his lovely musky man smell about him and his breath smelled of cloves. He was at least making an effort not to stink. It was a good start. Today also there didn't seem to be that second person under Floyd's skin. Either the veil was up and working properly, or Spencer had imagined it in the first place. 'Be careful. I can't lose you.' Spencer wiped a bit of hair of Floyd's face. 'And take the bike. If you drive you'll be stopped for speeding, or running down pedestrians.'

'And you're correct again. I won't need the sidecar. Stay in the house.'

Spencer nodded, but remained silent. It was long past time to get this hideous thing done. He stood and watched Floyd leave in a deep rumble of motorcycle and then closed the door, putting the latch across and then turning, leaning on the door, resting his head back. Floyd was gone for now. It was his perfect chance to make the calls he knew he should make, so why he was sliding to the floor and sitting there, back pressed against the old wooden door, well he couldn't explain that now and would probably not be able to explain later. He felt sick. His heart was hammering. Spencer just hoped it was fear he was feeling and not excitement. He really hoped he hadn't slipped so far down the chain that he had become numb to the fact that he knew Floyd was going to snatch JJ's child and that Henry would never be seen again. At least not by family or loved ones. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at them with his fingertips. He didn't really want to be here alone at night. This old house creaked and whined when the sun went down. Wind blew through the surrounding trees and whistled under the eaves. It was a ghostly and miserable place to try to amuse yourself in. Though he knew that Floyd was every monster from all children's dreams and nightmares, he was still the only person Spencer felt completely safe with. Which was stupid. He knew that. He was thinking what a fool he was for everything as he stood and walked to the small kitchen to make some coffee. Maybe a drink of something sweet would settle his stomach… ease that sickness, unless of course it was adrenaline, in which case he would just become more jumpy and nervous.

The car was outside. There was nothing to stop him from getting in it and driving to somewhere brighter. A town. A motel room for the night maybe. Except for as he glanced at the small hook they kept the keys on, they were not there. Floyd had probably taken them with him to stop him from doing that exact thing. Running away.

There were a lot of things Floyd disliked in a person. Lies, cowardice… fake teeth, apologies… running away. Floyd would do what he considered regrouping, rethinking a strategy, backing away, but never running. That was cowardice. That was weakness. That was something Floyd couldn't abide, so it seemed he had stopped Spencer from doing that thing. He was stuck here unless he walked away and… well, no… that was not a thing Spencer considered doing. Not now he was seated with his mug of overly sweet coffee and was sitting on the couch with a book on his knee. One night. He could survive that!

Spencer had to remember, and he had an ache in his ribs to remind him, that this was all for Sam.

The Sam. A creature who Spencer had in the past sworn to protect, yet loathed with all of his being. Yes, Spencer was going to sit on the couch and ignore what Floyd was doing, he was going to pretend Floyd was not going to the circus to steal a child. He would imagine that Floyd was just out on the bike getting fresh air in his hair and bugs stuck to his face. That was what Spencer wanted to think.

His knee ached. It was throbbing in time with the pain in his side. Coffee finished, he took the mug, washed it and put it away, then went to the bathroom where he stripped off and looked at his mostly naked body in the full length mirror. It was the bruises he wanted to look at and touch gently. He wanted to prod them slightly until he could close his eyes and imagine Floyd doing that to him again. Each kick, every pinch and bite. He needed to see it all so that he could remember. A reminder that he was nothing. Worth nothing. He peered at his face. No marks there. Floyd had been at least slightly careful. There were blooms of dark marks around his neck, broken skin on his collarbone which had been bitten. Teeth marks above his left nipple and bruising where Floyd had sucked at the blood. Spencer knew he should be thankful. He was sort of alive. Floyd hadn't gone so far as to tear him apart and remove his heart, and he really did know that it was not something beyond Floyd.

He curled up alone on the bed and looked at the curtains which moved slightly in the breeze which managed to cut its way around the window frame and somehow through the glass. That frame which rattled and squeaked when the wind really blew. That frame which was somehow painted shut and yet still had enough gaps to make the curtains sway like a ghost was there hiding behind them, waiting… waiting for Spencer to drop his protective barrier and relax and then it would rise up and do something abhorrent. Or maybe it really was just the way the frame was poorly fitted and the single layer of glass which when you looked through it on a sunny day, looked as though it was tinged with blue.

He snapped off the main overhead light in the room, but kept on the small side light. It was evening. Time had passed too quickly, yet the quicker it passed the sooner Floyd would be back and the sooner he could spy on his clothing and ensure there were no splatters of blood. He could grasp Floyd's hands and kiss his knuckles whilst looking carefully for broken skin, or something nasty behind fingernails. He could breathe in Floyd's scent again and even if he did see those things, he knew he would say nothing. He would shake off that sickening feeling which might be fear, hate, exhilaration. He would ignore it. Spencer was very good at doing that. He could ignore warning signs. He could ignore the best guidance. He could ignore the blood splatters and the grazed knuckles. Spencer had become an expert at that.

The small electric clock on the shelf showed him that it was four in the morning. Spencer hadn't realised that he had fallen asleep, but he must have done. The side light was still on. The door shut. The room silent apart from his own shuddering breaths. Something had awoken him and he had no idea what that was. Maybe a night creature had called out. Perhaps Floyd was home and sitting alone bloody and pale. Spencer pushed back the bed covers and pulling on a housecoat, padded to the door, listening at it, placing his fingertips on the door handle but not yet twisting the large brass ball of a knob. There was no peculiar vibrations. There was no sensation of heat. The metal felt cool in his hand. The house was empty, apart from himself. Floyd was not yet back. He peered out of the window at the front of the house. The car was still there, alone. The bike not back its place. Floyd not returned. It was maybe not too late to leave, by foot, in the middle of the night…

A laugh left Spencer, making himself jump slightly and flinch from the sound. He'd not meant to do that.

'This isn't funny.' He bit down on his bottom lip and wandered to the kitchen, flicking on the lights as he went. Coffee was needed to calm him and get rid of yet another headache, or maybe it was still the same one which kept drifting away and then smacking him again between the eyes, just as a reminder that things were not as they were meant to be.

Floyd didn't turn up when the birds began to sing their morning song. He wasn't there when Spencer made some eggs for breakfast, throwing them away afterwards out of fear he'd throw up. Floyd didn't come home when the sun was at the highest or when it started to go down again in the evening. Floyd wasn't there to see Spencer checking coat pockets for keys to that car with the blacked out windows. Nor was he there when Spencer finally found the spare set in stuck at the back of the drawer in the kitchen which was full of very sharp knives. Spencer went out of the house at that point, still in his housecoat, but with a pair of old shoes on his feet and crunched along the driveway to see if they were the right keys and if they were, that the car still worked.

It was a sigh of delight when the engine turned over and made that smooth purring sound it tended to make when it thought it was going out for a long drive. Not today, tonight, it was night-time now… not now. Spencer put those keys under a large stone which was under the second wooden step up to the wraparound porch. He pressed it down into the cold earth and hoped that it wouldn't ruin it. He was sure it wouldn't. It was just in case, you know? Just in case he had to get away quickly. Just in case Floyd came home with a blond child's head in a bag tied to his belt with a W engraved on the buckle. Just in case he had to run.

The spare key was still there a week later, but by now it had been carefully wrapped in a piece of plastic from a bag used to put things in freezer. Left over bits which would never get eaten. Bits of this and bits of that which looked dodgy when they had first been cooked and now looked like bits of frozen brain and slices of suspect other stuff which Spencer didn't much want to think about and certainly wouldn't be eating – not through choice.

The spare key was still there a month later. It had moved slightly from the original position because Spencer had removed it and tried the car out again, and again, and again. Slight panic at first, then a whole bucket load of panic shifting through his body and brain, making his eyes water and his nose feel stuffed up.

He sat there on that second step knowing that the key was just a few inches away from him, smoking a cheroot and feeling his head spin and his heart hammer. A whole month. Too long. Something had gone wrong. Yet no one had come to the door and rattled the knocker or smashed in the locks to come looking for him. He'd seen no flashing blue and red lights and he'd heard no sirens. No one was coming looking for Spencer because his worth was zero.

Even the signs which had been there once which showed him that he meant something, proved to him that Floyd had been here and it wasn't his own insanity which had imagined it, even they were gone. The bruises faded to nothing. The bites just tiny marks which looked more like scratches and maybe they had always been just that… he'd had an 'episode' and had lost his mind. Thought it all up in his head.

'Tomorrow.' He told himself. For now he wasn't quite sure what that meant. It could have been that it was tomorrow that Floyd would return and allow him to regain his lost sanity or it might have meant that tomorrow he would finally start that car engine and actually drive away. For now, though, he just sat and smoked and thought and the longer he did that for the more the world spun around his head and the more he convinced himself that he was mad, mad, mad.

'Tomorrow.' He sighed.


	4. Chapter 4

_Floyd Flanders once said: 'I warned you, Spencer.' ~ The Scarecrow._

* * *

SPENCER

Today. It's today. There are no more excuses. I know, I know deep down that he will be back, but in the past I have waited years for that event and I can't stay here in this dilapidated hole awaiting that great happening. I need to get out.

Of course I'm a fool. I should have checked up on things before now, disappearing children, murders, but leaving this place wasn't really part of my plan. I had no way to check on events which could have been unfolding just outside my door. I have the occasional plan which hasn't been formulated and numbered and annotated by Floyd. I can make my own and I'm quite good at it! But this wasn't part of the rough scribblings of a plan I had formulated in my muddled mind. I wasn't really going to be packing my bags, toothbrush and razor included, and using the keys I'd hidden. I had no real intention of doing that or I would have driven off as soon as I knew that the keys fitted the car and that the car wasn't rigged to explode – (which I didn't think of at the time, but really wouldn't have shocked me) but now my belongings, what there is of them, are stuffed in the trunk of the car and my pillows are resting on the back seat of that same car with a green and red quilt folded neatly next to it.

I'm leaving.

I have money. I have cash. I have rather a lot of cash, actually. Floyd uses banks, but seems to have money hidden away all over the place and I've had a month of searching and during that month I've found enough, more than enough, money to keep me going for probably a good few months. I will have to be careful what I buy. I will have to sleep in the car. I will have to be oh so very aware, but it's possible. I also obviously have money in the bank. I can access that easily enough, but will Floyd use that to track me down?

Sitting in the car, I've made myself laugh again. Floyd need my banking details to track me down? Who am I trying to fool! He'll just sniff me out. He'll wrap his fingers around the tendrils of scent and emotions and he'll wind it in and there I'll be at the end of it, apologising, on my overly used knees, begging him to understand why I ran and left no message for him. Trying to get him to love me! Need me!

All of this is for Sam. All of it! Has it ever been for me? How much have I given up for that _thing_ called Sam? How much? Everything? I've handed Floyd over to him with not much more of a whimper. Pathetic! Stupid. I'm a grown man and maybe I've had a few – more than a few – but not too many problems in my past, but to hand over the only man I've ever loved to a child… to allow that to happen and then be pulled in by it? It makes me feel ill thinking about it. I would be locked up if the authorities knew. I'd never be released if they knew the true depths I had sunk to.

The car doesn't have that new smell to it. I doubt it ever did. It smells of cheroots and cloves. It smells of something which makes my nose tingle and my eyes try to water. I don't know why. I'm not sitting here on the leather car seat crying. That's not what the tears are. It's maybe the irritation of the fumes, those smells which bring back oh so many memories. Good memories! Good and bad, I guess, but for now good things come flooding into my mind. The cloves. He started chewing on them to sweeten his breath. I mentioned to him once that his breath stank like something dead had crawled into his mouth and taken root. Or perhaps it was that I recoiled from him once. He tends to speak very close. Close enough that I can feel his lips brush mine, or directly into my ear, licking at me as he talks his sweet words. Maybe I recoiled from that. I can't really remember what actually happened, but he took note. He did something for me. Didn't go so far as brushing his teeth or using a mouthwash or flossing, but he did start to chew cloves. That was for me. That was something Floyd did, thinking only of me. As I sit here in the car I think of how he would run his fingers down the side of my face, or gently over my neck. I think of the way those fingers seem to pick out all of the places where he knows… he knows that I like that. That gentle and loving side of Floyd. It's not mentioned much, I suppose, but it's there. I couldn't love a man as deeply as I love Floyd if there was only pain. Sure, I know… pain is part of it too. That rush of adrenaline. That spike I feel… that tightening of something which flows through me. Like a drug.

I wipe at my eyes with my fists.

I'm angry.

I'm so damned angry. How did it come to this point? I hardly know now. So many things happened. So much.

And again Sam. Sam who can twist time and make things start from the beginning. Start the pain all over again from the very first punch, twist, pinch and bite. And there is so much spinning in my head. Too many confused backgrounds that I hardly know who I am now. Am I the Spencer who met Floyd for the first time when I was out investigating murders with the team? When Princess was there. Those scarecrows. That was just another twist which I am sure Sam had something to do with.

Did I first know Floyd when I was coming home from school and the bullies knocked books from my hands and he stepped forward, giving me a lift home on the back of his bike. Big brother love… that didn't last either.

Was Floyd really around when I was a baby? Did he watch from the shadows as I was brought home from hospital with my parents? Did he sit in the dark in my bedroom as I lay there in my crib… watching and waiting? Have I always known Floyd?

I remember… I can truly remember that first kiss. The dimple. That kiss on my lower back. Just above my right buttock. I was still a child. That kiss on the corner of my mouth. I was no more than twelve at the time and it meant nothing, obviously meant no more than my mother kissing me on the cheek, or a ruffling of the hair my father used to give me when I was small. Contact of that sort with my father was rare. It makes me shiver… makes my arms come out in goosebumps when I think of it. Why was my father so reluctant to have physical contact with me? Oh I know what Floyd has said, but I also know that Floyd lies… they drip from his tongue like honey on a hot spoon… soothing words. Such soft and soothing words.

I start the car. Tears, whatever caused them, have dried up. Gone. They're not magical things like Sam's. They can't lure anyone in. They mean nothing. They don't smell of roses or taste good… at least not to me. Floyd says I taste of that honey I just spoke of. Lies again. I don't. I'm very sure of that.

Not being a complete idiot. Genius. Certified. I don't go directly to where we put up the posters for the circus… not near to where JJ lives. I go out in the opposite direction. The windows are tinted. The car is legal – as far as I am aware it is. I know advertisements for the circus – Freak Show – whatever it was, I know they were posted other places, so it's there I go first. There is nothing. I walked these streets with a stapler in one hand and a wad of papers in the other. I know I stuck them to trees and other useful places. I know I did. Now I am parked up staring at the tree I remember putting one of them on and there's nothing there. Nothing. Not even a staple with a thumbnail sized bit of torn paper lodged under it. There really is no sign that anything had been put there. I looked. I got out of the car and had a close look. Not so close that it looked like I was some drunk or insane person talking to trees, but pretty close. If something had once been put there, it was now gone. All of the places I've checked. Nothing.

It's to the library I go next. Not my local one. I drive for over an hour before I get the courage to park up properly and go to check old newspapers and reports of missing children.

Not being a fool, I check all reports of all crimes. I make note of it all. I cover pages in my handwriting in the notebook I bought in a small store just down the road. Pages of reports which mean nothing to me. Burglaries, muggings, illegal acts carried out in all places. I write them all down. If I'm asked, I need not to just have missing person's reports, and I do have some.

Marie Benarche. She went missing some two months ago, but the missing person report only went in last month. I underline it for some reason. She had been walking back alone from a night out with friends and never made it home. They won't find her. I know that. She's dead somewhere. I'm very sure that it has nothing to do with Floyd, but I'm also very sure that she won't be found. Not now. Not so long after she was last seen. I grit my teeth at this. A whole month went by before she was reported gone, disappeared… vanished. Four weeks and no one noticed. She had friends. They were not good ones, obviously.

Dave Wisbeck. Drove off last week after an argument with his wife and hasn't been seen since. They're looking for his car. He was an elderly man. I don't underline this one. It has no relevance to anything, but then nor did Marie. I think that Marie just makes me feel sad. A young girl, not missed for so long. Dave, a man in his eighties… probably lost his way. They will find him hiding out in a motel somewhere.

Leo Jacks. A street worker. He went off with someone last week. That I underline. A young man. The picture shows long blond hair, big eyes… blue eyes. A small face and a small person. Yes, this one I underline. A whore.

For the geographic area I'm looking in they are the only ones who have been reported missing. At least the only ones to make it to the newspapers in the area of interest. No children have wandered off. No missing children of FEDS. Nothing alarming. Which in itself alarms me slightly. I move onto people who have been arrested. Again nothing which I need to concern myself with which again actually is the cause of concern. There seems to be no sign that Henry was snatched from the circus… This brings me to looking for that place. Where is it now? Where has it moved to? I search for it.

Nothing.

There is nothing at all.

It never seemed to have existed. It wasn't advertised in the papers. There was nothing going on at the site Floyd had told me of. Was it all lies? Was it something to keep my quiet? To stop me asking more questions? That easy way I avoided being part of it. The way he allowed me to stay at home. Now it all feels so wrong.

There is something which I note in my head. I don't write it down. I've no need to. I'll remember it. I'll actually remember all of it. No real need to have spent so much time writing useless notes which I will never want or need. A lad was found. They don't know who he is. A teenaged boy with dark hair and eyes. Battered. Beaten. Found walking at the side of the road. They don't know who he is. They don't know where he is from. He's in hospital. His face peers out of the page like a virus. I might not have discovered what Floyd has been up to, but I sure have found Sam.

o-o-o

SAM

Have you ever had to dig yourself out of hell? Maybe. Perhaps you've done that, but I mean actually literally. I mean actual hell, not some depression or fucking bad time you may or may not have had. I don't mean lack of money or a car breakdown on a wet and windy or snowy night in the middle of nowhere. I don't mean escaping from a psychopath who has you tied to a chair in a shed in a cemetery. Not that sort of hell. I don't mean the deep darkness which encroaches minds and forces people to stay in bed for a week. Not that sort of hell at all. I mean real hell. The place where the monsters are as real as time. Very real. Can't escape that. Not really. Not ever. But I managed somehow. I'm not sure how the merry fuck I did manage because I thought I was buried alive somewhere, but I saw light! I saw it creeping around the corners and through the planking of the coffin I was in and then I managed to push up and escape and I'm not kidding you, not one tiny bit, that the condition I was in then was a new hell. The sort of hell you would understand. My fingernails were ruined! Broken. The varnish chipped to fuck and the actual nails split and damaged and I just hope they'll recover. I really do because they look a mess right now and such a mess that I don't really want to talk to anyone. That's not even starting with the state my face and hair was in when someone finally found it in their cold hard heart to call for help for me. No they didn't offer me a lift, but I was told by the cops who did stop for me that someone had made a call about me. Looked like I needed help. Fuck you! Just because my hair was a mess and my makeup totally gone to ruin and my clothes were dirty and ragged, just because of that shit doesn't make me someone who needs help. What I need is Floyd. And he's nowhere to be seen. I'm not talking to anyone. I don't care how many times they ask me my name or where I'm from, I'm not going to tell them. It's not their business. I don't know if I _should_ tell them anything. I don't know if I'm on some FED list of wanted and dangerous people. I don't want to be picked up by some old fart and either told everything is going to be fine (because how can it be when I have a zit on my chin and my nails are a ruin), and I don't want to be picked up for pimping my arse out or some other imagined crime because believe me I've not been doing anything of the sort. I'm not some pity party to be raved over. I'm not what I appear to be.

I am Sam.

I am hell spawn… and Floyd's spawn too.

That makes me special in so many ways that it would make you vomit just to think about it and no one here is going to look at me and think I am anything but some run-away shit from some trailer in the back of nowhere.

I know someone will contact me. I really do. Until then I'm keeping my silence. Oh for sure I'll let my needs be known. I'll talk that sort of crap to people but when they ask for my name and that sort of thing, well, no, that's not about to happen. Not until I have word from Floyd and word will come. If we are in the same world at the same time. Maybe we're not!

Oh fuck.

I'd not thought of that. I might be in a different time-line to Floyd and/or Spencer. I'm not really going to think too much about Spencer though, because I don't think he'd be doing too much thinking about me. Even though I would, you know? I would if I thought he had a care for me, but he doesn't. Frankly, I don't for him either. We've never been best of friends. Not ever. Can't see it happening.

That's beside the point though. Maybe I'm like in a different world. A different place and same time, or it might be the same world but a different time.

I keep asking for a watch. They gave me a small digital bit of plastic crap and I told them it was no good. That I needed a wind up thing and they thought it was because I couldn't tell the fucking time! I know more about time than anyone. I can smell it. I can _see_ it. Not just the flickering numbers on a plastic watch, or hands on a ticking clock up on the wall, I can see it. Actually see it in the air around me.

So I'm waiting.

Waiting for Floyd.

Time is always on my side.

I can wait as long as it takes.


End file.
